


Lift not the painted veil

by Beanwhile



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: S05e05 The Disir, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanwhile/pseuds/Beanwhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordred takes a wound from the Disir protecting Arthur. Percy carries him to the infirmary, and stays with him for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lift not the painted veil

**Author's Note:**

> Title from P. B. Shelley's sonnet.

                Percy’s feet walk towards the infirmary as fast as they can. His eyes barely register what’s happening around him; his mind is in his arms, with Mordred’s limp and lifeless body. How can someone be so small, so _light_ …? Percy bends his knee and bows his head to avoid hitting it in one of the lower arcs. The corridor twists and turns, longer than he remembers it. The closer he gets to the infirmary the more the distance seems to grow. People trot and talk somewhere in the deafened space behind him, he hears his name but can’t quite register what he’s being told.

                The infirmary door is within sight when someone rushes past him, and Percy recognizes Merlin’s tousled hair and the red scarf. He opens the door and nods, but Percy can’t just drop Mordred and leave when Gaius is mere three steps away. Percy needs to hear it from him, needs to hear _Gaius_ say Mordred will be _fine_ , or that the boy needs rest but he will recover. Mordred has to come out of this alive otherwise Percy is not quite sure what… what will happen. He can’t bear the thought of bad news. Mordred is lifeless in his arms, even after all the bouncing on the horse and through the stairs.

                Gaius is with them in a second, completely disregarding age and ache when it comes to helping those in need. It gives Percy a glimpse of relief, to see the physician ready to act. “He’s wounded,” he blurts out, and feels rather dumb after such a revelation. They wouldn’t be here if someone wasn’t in need of medical attention.

                He helps with undressing and putting Mordred on the bed while Merlin tells the gist of it. There is something dreadful in the way Gaius furrows his brows while examining the wound. It’s an ugly _hole_ gaping just beneath Mordred’s shoulder; Percy knows little about treating wounds but he knows it’s bad when the colour of the skin around it is unnatural shades of violet and yellow.

                A touch to his forearm startles him. Merlin pushes harder with the back of his fingers. “Gaius can take it from here,” he says. Percy blinks at him, and the words are hard to process. There is something in Merlin’s expression, something that’s not quite… There are no words to describe it, definitely not ones Percy would use to describe Merlin. It’s _Merlin_ , yet he seems… cold? Percy moves his gaze to Gaius. The physician is looking at him, he and Merlin both. Percy realizes he’s the one acting weird.

                “Of course,” he mutters, and turns to leave.

                Outside, Gwaine is pacing up and down the corridor, arms crossed on his chest and his hair still a mess from riding. He trots to Percy before the latter has even closed the door. “Well?” Gwaine asks, and moves his hands to his hips. With someone else it can be a gesture of exasperation, but never Gwaine, and Percy is relieved he’s not the only one to worry.

                He shakes his head and leans against the wall. Gwaine pushes the hair out of his face, and stares, his expression one of dejection. He joins Percy against the wall. A couple of minutes later Arthur rushes past them and into the infirmary. The door closes immediately after him: probably Merlin.

                Then, the waiting begins.

                It’s slow and torturous, to say the least. At some point Gwaine shakes his head and stomps away, frustrated with his helplessness beyond control. Percy can’t blame him, but can’t find it in himself to leave. He is painfully aware his presence contributes nothing and he’s probably wasting time. Arthur would surely inform them about Mordred’s condition as soon as possible, but… There is the “ _but”_.

                Percy looks at his feet. _Move_ , he thinks, _let’s go,_ but neither legs nor feet seem to be in the mood to listen, much less obey. He tries to force one into taking a step, and fails. It’s like he is a prisoner in his own lifeless body. _Like Mordred_ , a treacherous thought snakes into his mind.

                Arthur is broken when he emerges from the infirmary, and it fills Percy with dread. The king’s expression changes when he sees Percival still outside. “What are you still doing here?”

                “I, I was worried…” Percy babbles the first thing that comes to mouth. No lie there. Arthur’s features soften, and his eyes grow deeper with sorrow.

                “I understand,” he says simply. The king has to reach up to pat Percy’s shoulder. “He’s stable for now. Maybe he just needs some rest.”

                Percy allows to be pushed and walked down the corridor. “But _how_ is he?” he insists.

                Arthur shakes his head and picks up the pace. Percy has little choice but to walk with him.

***

                Less than an hour later Arthur and Merlin ride out. According to Leon, they’re going back to the Disir’s cave. Percy wishes he could go with them, beg for Mordred’s life, anything, but when Arthur and Merlin ride alone none’s allowed to follow. Percy watches them from the courtyard, alone with his crushing glimmer of home that, perhaps, they will return with a cure.

 

***

                He can’t help himself. When dusk gathers he returns to the infirmary. Gaius looks up from his book, and there’s curiosity in his eyes. “His condition hasn’t changed,” he informs Percy. He seems sorry to have nothing good to say.

                “I’ll watch over him. I won’t bother you,” Percy pleads. He will leave if Gaius asks him to, but hopes for the best.

                The physician leaves his reading glass on the book and sighs. He looks tired in the flickering orange light of the candles. “I’m sure you won’t, my boy, but I’m afraid your presence will change… little.”

                Percy gives a frantic nod of understanding, and hurries towards Merlin’s room where Mordred has been moved. He’s aware that he can’t change a thing – and Gaius has said “little” only to spare his feelings – yet he can’t help thinking that Mordred might awaken during the night, or that he might need something. Percy feels much better being there for him: just in case.

                Just in case.

                Of course, Mordred does not react to him when Percy enters the room, neither when he takes a seat next to the bed. His fellow knight doesn’t move at all, save for the even shallow rising and falling of his chest. Percy won’t go as far as to tuck him in – it’s a warm summer night and the window is cracked – but he does look around the bed to make sure Mordred is comfortable. Percy plumps his pillow and reaches to push away the messy curls, but stops himself. Mordred’s hair is perfectly fine. It can’t go into his eyes. Percy takes his hand instead, and moves it from his chest.

                And finds himself unable to let go of it.

                A huge lump rises in his throat and suffocates him; he tries to swallow it down but it refuses to move. He wants to cry out, to lessen the pain, but it just stands there like the stupidest thing, and makes his eye water. He tightens his grip on Mordred’s hand and hangs his head. He wants to say something, but nothing comes to mind, nothing appropriate. Percy sits there, hanging onto his friend’s hand like a drowning man, biting his lips and fighting the stupid lump that makes his eyes sting. Mordred has such gentle, soft hands. It’s ridiculous.

                _You can’t die_ , Percy thinks; then his mind wanders. The thought is too painful to even consider. Darkness soon engulfs the room, and in front of Percy Mordred’s pale chest continues to rise and fall. _At least he does not seem to be getting worse_. Percy’s skin itches where the tears have run, and he rubs his face with the heel of his palm. He rests his head on the edge of Mordred’s bed for a second. Time seems to slow down, and he enjoys the few seconds of tranquility.

 

***

                Percy dreams of Mordred’s face. A stray beam of sunlight reaches across the room and plants a flash right into the knight’s face. He furrows his brows and turns his head to the side; his eyes open and he looks around. For the most part, he seems confused. He tries to move his hand but Percy’s grip on it is too strong. Mordred gives up on that for the moment and instead looks at Percy, still puzzled.

                “Percy?” he calls, and his voice is quiet and soft. _Too bad I’m dreaming_ , Percy thinks, and he opts for staying still just a bit more, to watch Mordred alive and well, before Percy has to open his eyes. “Percy,” Mordred calls his name again, louder this time, and tugs the hands Percy is holding.

                Percy jumps and blinks rapidly. The sunlight doesn’t dissipate into darkness, the warmth of it doesn’t leave his skin, and Mordred’s eyes remain open and questioning.

                “You’re well!” Percy exclaims. Joy bubbles up in his chest. It fuels him, he feels like he can run around the castle twice, on that energy alone. Mordred smiles at him.

                “Shouldn’t I be?” His eyes flicker down to their joined hands. Percy’s enthusiasm turns into embarrassment in a flash. He never, he didn’t… He did not deem it possible for Mordred to wake to his hand being held. Percy pulls it away, but Mordred chases after, and takes hold of Percy’s fingers. He’s fast for someone who has been down with a mortal wound mere hours ago.

                “Did you stay with me overnight?”

                “I… yes,” Percy admits. He refuses to look Mordred in the eyes. “I thought… someone should watch over you for the night. Gaius needs his rest, after all,” he explains to their hands.

                Mordred laughs and pulls him into a hug. Percy doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. His arms find their way around Mordred’s tender frame, and Percy hides his face into the tiny knight’s neck. He’s afraid to squeeze, afraid to even rub Mordred’s back lest he make him worse again. It is such a terrible wound. The lump in his throat rises again, and he doesn’t bother to stop it this time. The tears burn his eyes and slide down his cheeks. He’s embarrassed he’s crying, but he’s gladder Mordred will be okay again. Percy can’t think of a world without him.

                But Mordred lives, he’s here in his arms, he’s not going anywhere. Everything is right again.


End file.
